


Cry In The Night

by jennytork



Series: Gemini AU [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 04:41:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10959858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennytork/pseuds/jennytork
Summary: Sam's visions clue the brothers into a family plagued by murders that look like suicides. What does the kid Sam's age have to do with anything and why does his life parallel Sam's? (Based on the season one episode "Nightmare".)





	Cry In The Night

CRY IN THE NIGHT

 _"NO!"_

The purring rumble of the Impala cruising down a deserted road beneath him as he flew exploded in the force of the simple shouted word. Dean Winchester sat straight up, reaching over to snap on the light between the motel beds. "Sammy?"

His younger brother was sitting ramrod straight, his hands clenching and unclenching in the garish comforter. His hair and whippet shirt were both stuck to him with sweat, and his chest heaved as he struggled to draw in breath.

But what frightened Dean was his brother's eyes. The hazel orbs were huge with terror and fixed upon nothing at all.

"Hey," Dean sank onto Sam's bed and took him by the shoulders, shaking him gently. "Hey – wake up, man! Come on!"

Slowly, Sam's eyes blinked and he turned to face his brother. ".....Dean?"

"Yeah, I'm -- _oof!"_ Dean gasped as he suddenly had an armful of little brother, shaking as if he were trying to quake himself to pieces. His hands grabbed onto Dean's t-shirt like a lifeline.

"Geesh, Sammy," Dean breathed, even as one hand automatically came up to smooth sweaty hair off Sam's cheek. "What the hell were you _dreaming?"_

"Wasn't a dream," Sam slurred into Dean's shoulder. "....vision."

"Must've been _some_ vision, to rock you like this!"

".....shot."

Dean frowned. "Shot?" At Sam's jerky nod, he asked, "Okay – who got shot?"

".....you."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It took two hours and Dean crawling into bed like when they were growing up so Sam could feel his heartbeat, but eventually both brothers fell back into uneasy sleep.

Sam rocketed awake shortly after six-thirty, sitting up and gasping.

Dean sat up, blinking awake and rubbing his panting brother's back as if he was six years old again. "Same dream?"

"No," Sam said, rolling to the side and grabbing a notebook. He wrote down a series of letters and numbers. "A guy suffocated in his car. Felt like another vision."

"Two in one night?"Dean yawned, knuckling at his eyes. "Some kind of record?" He grinned at the glare aimed his way. "Go on. Take--"

"First shower," they chorused, then Sam finished, "You go after and let's head--"

"Out for breakfast," they chorused again. Dean nodded and added, "Might make you feel better, after that first--"

"—Vision," twin voices ended as Sam got out of bed. "I'll leave you some hot water."

"I'll believe _that_ when I see it," Dean shot back, and Sam's over-the-shoulder grin made the jab completely worth it.

Dean didn't even try to go back to sleep. Sam's double visions had completely rattled him as well. So he set up their dual laptops and typed in the string of letters and numbers Sam had written down.

The shower cut off, and Dean left the computer to do its thing while he gathered his clothing.

The motel room briefly resembled a revolving door – one Winchester leaving the bathroom as one walked in. The pair shared an amused smile at the visual as Dean closed the door between them.

When Dean emerged from the shower, he saw Sam raise his eyes from the laptop. "Found him."

Dean nodded and began to pack up the motel room.

He'd put on his boots in the car.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Caperville, Michigan – approximately two hours out from Saginaw.

The brothers checked in, and Sam set up while Dean pulled out their "investigation suits".

Dean turned as Sam drew in a shocked gasp. "What?"

"We're too late. He died yesterday. Suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning."

"Suicide?" Dean frowned. "Why would your visions clue us in to a suicide?"

"I know, it don't make sense!" Sam erupted, his slipping diction revealing the depth of his agitation. "Usually it's something supernatural – but a suicide don't--" He broke off, sighing deeply as Dean's hand landed on his shoulder.

"We'll figure it out," Dean said calmly. "Who was it?"

"Jim Miller," Sam recited miserably. "Left behind a brother and his family."

Dean squeezed his shoulder. "We can't save everyone."

"I know," Sam sighed. "Doesn't help very much right now." Dean released his shoulder and moved away. Sam reached to close the computer, when a pair of eyes caught his. "Dean."

Dean came back over as Sam scrolled down to fully reveal a woman with tired eyes standing stiffly in a man's embrace. "Pretty – but sad. Who's she?"

"Jim Miller's brother and his wife."

"Okay." Dean frowned. "So why's that tension in your voice?"

"That first vision-dream – you were shot protecting a lady." He touched the screen. "You were shot protecting _her."_

"You're sure?" The expression Sam turned on him eloquently answered that question. "You're sure. Okay." He took a deep breath. "Let's go talk to this – Roger Miller," he read off the screen. "See what we can learn."

"Dean---"

He held up a hand. "We know your visions don't always come true. I'm taking it as a warning to be careful. So we'll be careful."

Sam blew the air out of his cheeks and stood. "Let's put on our suits."

"Why?"

"You were shot in Hunter clothing – not Fed suits. Being careful, remember?"

Dean smiled. "You got it, Sammy."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean smiled slightly as Roger Miller answered the door. "Mister Miller? I'm Agent Collins and this is Agent Banks." He showed his ID.

Sam did the same. "We'd like to speak to you about your brother."

Miller frowned. "This isn't FBI jurisdiction, Agents. My brother committed suicide."

Sam shook his head. "Mister Miller, we have--"

"My _brother,"_ Miller cut him off. "Committed _suicide._ And I will _thank_ you to leave me and my family _alone!"_ With that, he closed the door firmly in their faces.

Wincing, the brothers looked at each other and chorused, "Charming."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After cruising through a Mexican take-out restaurant, twin laptops churned out research answers for an hour or so.

"Yahtzee," Sam and Dean chorused, then looked at each other and said, "You first."

Dean shook his head, chuckling. "Okay – oldest first. The recently departed Mister Miller had absolutely no prior indications of depressive behaviour."

"That doesn't really mean anything," Sam pointed out. "Sometimes acute depression--"

"Yeah," Dean held up a hand. "Except everything seemed to be going his way. The business was thriving, he was steadily dating... My gut says this wasn't suicide."

"And again, acute depression can sometimes trigger even when things are going well," Sam said. "But in this case, I'm inclined to believe your gut. The timing is just too co-incidental to be coincidence." He turned the laptop around. "Jim Miller died the very next day after his nephew Max returned from involuntary commitment to a psych ward."

"Max," Dean frowned at the article and then turned back to his own laptop and typed for a second. "Here we go – son of Roger and Alice Miller, admitted for delusions and hallucinations--" He chewed on his lower lip. "He looks like he's your age."

"Found a picture?" Sam stood up, stretching his back.

"Lemme get his records; it's gonna bug me...." Dean made a sound of satisfaction. "Maxwell Roger Miller, son of Roger and Eliza--" His wide eyes snapped up to meet Sam's.

 _"Elizabeth?"_ they gasped in unison, startled. Sam sat back down, ran a quick search, and hissed.

"What?" Dean asked, coming to read over his shoulder and biting off a curse. "He _is_ your age – born March '83, mother died in a house fire—"

"---When he was six months old," they chorused, then Sam looked up, his eyes haunted. "Like us."

Dean's lips thinned and he grabbed his jacket, pulling his tie tight again. "Let's go. Time to talk to the Millers again."

"Yeah," Sam growled, closing both laptops and grabbing his own jacket. "This is a little too close for comfort.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Feeling shaken by the eerie similarities of their families, the brothers decided to fly back.Gemini touched down on the Miller family's porch, and Dean stepped away from him, raising his hand to knock.

A woman's terrified scream aborted the knock, turning it into a kick that slammed the door open. Dean and Sam raced up the stairs, drawn by the sounds of male yelling.

A sudden loud – and very wet – noise erupted, followed by an eerie silence as they emerged into a hallway. The woman suddenly screamed again, and they spun to the right, racing down the hall and flinging open a door.

They saw a body – minus its head – sliding down to the floor beside a firmly closed window. It wore the same clothing Roger Miller had when they saw him earlier in the day.

The woman from the photograph – Alice Miller – was trying to press herself into the wall while a young man stood glaring at her, with a knife floating in mid-air between them. The man's head snapped to face them, and the knife fell to the ground. "Don't! Interfere!" he snarled.

Dean stepped in front of the woman. "Max, right? Max, come on – you really don't want to do this."

"Oh, yeah," he sneered. "I really do." The knife wobbled as it rose again. "Years of being beaten! Hated! By those two so-called 'pillars of the community' – while _she_ did _nothing!_ My only sin was my birth mother died in _my room!_ Oh, no, you don't!" He spun to face Sam, who had been circling to grab him.

Sam gasped as he found himself airborne, propelled backward and into a small closet. He saw the door slam and heard something heavy roll in front of it.

Then he heard Max make a noise of satisfaction, and Dean make one of horror. Picking himself up, he ran his hands over the small of his back and groaned as he found his gun missing.

His vision was coming to vivid life. He tested the door and found it unmovable, so he took a small step backward in the tiny space.

Inside the small closet, and outside it, two left hands snapped simultaneously.

Alice and Max each cried out as Dean's form wavered. It grew slightly taller and the sandy hair lengthened and became fiery red. "Stay behind me," his altered voice ordered Alice.

Max's eyes were wild with insanity. They locked on the gun again, wavering it up between them. "what are you?" he screamed. "What the hell _are_ you?"

A sad smile touched the altered face. "Like this – my name is Gemini."

"Not _who – what_ are you?" Max growled.

"I'm what could have become you," Gemini said. "If my dad had blamed me. My mom died when I was six months – in a house fire. In my bedroom."

Max's jaw lowered.

Gemini nodded. "And I have psychic abilities, too. But like this?" He gestured at his body. "Fused like this, my brother and I have very _different_ abilities."

"What.... What are those?" Max asked, intrigued despite himself.

Gemini's hand flashed out. A jet of flame rocketed from it and struck the hovering gun, knocking it to the floor.

Max staggered, a hand flying to his forehead.

"Sorry in advance about the mess," Gemini said over his shoulder to Alice, before he raised his hand over his head.

A second, precisely aimed bolt of flame flared out and severed the cord holding up a light fixture. Before Max could even look up, it fell and took him to the ground with it.

Sam stepped away from Gemini and felt on Max's neck. "Alive – just out cold." He retrieved his gun as he stood up.

Dean turned and hugged Alice. "You're safe now," he soothed. "It's over."

"No!" Alice gasped, pushing him away. "Don't you see? He's his father's child! He won't stop – not till one of us is dead!" With that, she lunged for Sam's gun.

Sam caught her wrists. "Easy, settle down! Now, we're going to make sure he can't hurt you, okay? We'll find a way!"

Dean had his phone out and pressed against his ear. "Doctor Marilyn Evans, please," he said, naming the woman who had rapidly become their primary physician due to her knowing how to treat meta-humans, being one herself. "Hey, Doc – it's Dean. Listen, we've got a bit of an issue, though."

He listened to her for a second, then said, "No, neither of us. We're both fine. But we've got a psychotic telekinetic on our hands. Caperville, Michigan. Anyone nearby know how to dampen a psionic's powers?"

~*~*~*~*~*~

"I see," Sam smiled into the phone. "Well, if you're sure.....Okay, then. Bye, Alice." He hung up and turned to see Dean hanging up his own cell.

"How's she doing?" Dean asked, laying his phone beside his closed laptop.

"She's good." Sam sat on his bed and toed off his shoes. His jacket and tie landed at the foot of the bed and he groaned as he pulled his socked feet up onto the bed. "Her sister's driving in from Saginaw to help her pack." He gestured toward Dean's phone. "That Doc?"

"Yup. The meta-human ward in Joliet had what she needed. Max Miller is now sporting the latest in psionic dampening collars."

"Good." Sam paused to yawn. "Man....Dad could so easily have gone that way."

"But he didn't," Dean pointed out as he opened the laptop.

"Still." Sam's eyes closed. "Seeing what might have been..... Creepy, man. Just.....creepy."

"I hear ya," Dean said. "Just goes to--" He broke off,grinning at his sleeping brother. "Night, Sammy."

Dean surfed aimlessly for a while, then his eyes strayed to his phone. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands for a moment, before flipping it open and pushing a speed-call number.

Instead of the recorded message he was expecting, Dean heard a growled, _"Yeah?"_

"I don't believe it," he laughed softly. "You actually picked up."

_"Dean? Are you okay? Is Sammy--"_

"Asleep. We're both fine."

_"That.....That elemental hasn't---"_

"Dad. I told you, leave him alone. He's a _Friendly,_ okay?"

_"Friendlies can still fire."_

_"DAD."_

_"Okay, I'll shut up. For now. What is it?"_

"We ... met someone today. Sammy's age. Powerful telekinetic. Mother killed in a house fire when he was six months old." He heard his father's horrified gasp of recognition. "I know. Anyway, his dad and uncle – they blamed him for her death and routinely beat the ever-lovin' shit outta him. His powers developed.... and-and he murdered them."

_".....Dean...."_

"And that got me to thinkin'. Bout you and how you treated us."

 _"Dean—"_ His voice shook.

"Our childhood was hard, Dad. But neither one of us _ever_ doubted you loved us. If you couldn't say the words – you showed us over and over. Even if you and Sammy did get this annoyin' habit of buttin' heads like a couple of bad-tempered goats."

_"Shit, Dean...."_

"So you don't have to worry about Sammy," Dean finished. "He won't ever turn out like Max Miller. Cause you and me? We made _damn_ sure that kid was loved."

Silence. But Dean could hear him breathing, and knew he hadn't hung up.

"So," Dean grinned. "Now that you can probably smell the estrogen comin' through the phone...." John huffed a surprised laugh, as Dean had intended. "What's going on on your end?"

 _"I got a phone call last night,"_ John said. _"Real bizarre. Woman told me in no uncertain terms not to go to Chicago."_

"Chicago?" Frowning, Dean sat at the laptop and called up the Chicago papers. "....damn."

_"The weird murders? Yeah. Saw that myself."_

"Where are you?" Dean asked.

_"Just left Van Nuys."_

"Heading for Chicago," Dean sighed. "We're in Michigan. We can be there long before you. We'll handle this one."

_"Dean—"_

"Seriously. We got this one. See you round, Dad." Dean hung up and set an alarm.

Might as well get a couple hours rest before they headed to Chicago.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

John growled as the call disconnected and flung the phone onto the seat beside him as he wheeled back out onto the road and pressed just a little harder on the accelerator.

Now he had _two_ missions to accomplish in Chicago. He had to find out what was killing innocents and removing their hearts – it was the right M.O. for a werewolf, but the wrong amount of gore and the wrong time of the month.

And John's other mission was to find out what the hell this fire elemental really wanted with his boys.

No way in _hell_ this thing was a Friendly. It may have his sons snowed – but John knew better. He would drive this monster from his sons.

One way or another.

END


End file.
